So, there we are. Or rather, there we will be, when tomorrow comes. And where, I wonder to myself, did those weeks go? Terrifying. I really can't believe that we've reached First Short Leave already - and there's so much to get through before exams, too ... ! Still, the boys do seem to working pretty hard, so I think there's much to celebrate as we jam on the brakes at the first lay-by of term.

While I remember, I see from my stats that we now have a Follower in Kuwait! Greetings, my friend - and welcome aboard!

Tonight there was a lecture, given by some chap who'd cycled around most of the globe, which was, I'm sure, most informative, but such was his enthusiasm that it meant that all Newtonians were late to lodge - and I suppose my fretting about that is worthy only of being placed in the same category of the way I get more worked up over a split infinitive in a news report, rather than the catastrophe that's being reported, pedant that I am. I wrote a letter about such things to the Daily Telegraph to day, so I won't spoil the excitement of your reading, if the editor should consider my pedantic ranting worthy of publication - although I have to confess that my hit-rate as far as letters to the editor is concerned is a lot less than it was a couple of years ago, so don't hold yer breath.

To return to things Newtonian. I walked into Osprey where I beheld a resident walking in a hunchback style, throwing a packet of Starburst over his head and endeavouring to catch it as it came down behind it. The response given to my enquiry as to what on Earth was going on was that 'Mr Bush was trying to do it with a board marker.' Well, what would you do? Of course you would. So I did, having agreed with the owner of said packet that if I were successful, I could keep the contents. We settled the deal at half the packet and I went for it. Up went the Starburst - down came the Starburst - onto the floor. Oh well, at least I tried.

I had a potentially nasty incident the sports hall this afternoon, when one member of my game, who was playing indoor football, went for the ball, tripped and fell backwards, very awkwardly. Sister was called, who called for an ambulance; a 'car amblulance' arrived, and called for a big ambulance, whose on-board paramedics advised us that it was no more than a nasty fall, and would result in a nasty bruise or two. All a bit alarming, but thank the Lord, all was well. You won't be surprised to learn that I couldn't help but think of Casulaty. (Mis-typed, as usual.)

Those of you who have been following the initial progress of my son and heir at London University's School of Oriental and African Studies will, I hope, be pleased to learn that the traumas of his first 24 hours are now behind him; he's made lots of new friends, loves the course and is having a great time catching up with all his London-based friends. Most of whom seem to want to ply him with food, which is very generous of them. So renewed thanks to those of you who offered him (and us!) such great support in helping to get him started.

I think that's it for now, then. Have a lovely weekend, and I'll be back on line on Monday night.

Goodnight - and, as ever, thanks for reading.

So sorry, my people: nothing to report tonight, as Mrs C and I have been dining with Mrs C's sister and husband. Mr B was at the proverbial Newtonian helm, and all has been well, or so a text in the car on the way back told me.

I'll make up for this hopeless post tomorrow.

Goodnight.

Brazil, Romania and Turkey are, it seems, where parts of this blog's global audience reside, according to the stats, so, if that is you, dear Follower in distant lands, Greetings - and thanks for reading.

Tonight, back here in the homeland, the hillock that I told you about last night was, I imagined, disappearing. Not a bit of it. Just when I thought the Digestive mountain was eroding to a point of complete crumbliness, Miss Chloe opened a cupboard door in the laundry, and there were another dozen packets! Not only that, but packets of Bourbons as well! I did try to sneak out an illicit Digestive, but unfortunately the decoy I tried to engineer wasn't quite on the same wavelength, so I got caught by the Fuhrerine. (She didn't spot the Bourbon, though ..... !)

Oh my goodness, what a 48 hours (if you can have 'a' 48 hours) we've had with Tom C and his start to his university days! Suffice it to say that he ended up sleeping in a common room last night, and had it not been for the invaluable and kind assistance of a family who follow this blog, he'd probably be spending tonight in a field. So a public thank you, for all your help. I hope that he and his duvet are now re-united, and that he can sleep in the accommodation for which someone (he, at the moment, rather pleasingly) has handed over a few quid.

I was running my fingers over the ivories tonight, during a calm lodge moment, and to my delight one particular resident wandered into our drawing room and enquired, 'Sir, do you write your own songs?'

'Yes,' I replied with alacrity and played a couple of them. I'm actually trying to write one for my god-daughter at the moment - well, not at the moment, obviously, as I writing this - and it seems to be taking shape. Slowly. I hope it will be completed by Christmas. Anyway, it was nice of H**** to ask. (I bet you're wondering which one, now .... ! )

It's very quiet in the 'private side': all of our children are back in their respective institutions. No problem, though, as we have 24 of yours on loan. And very lovely they are, too.

Goodnight from a calm and peaceful Newton.

A lively evening tonight, despite the Adventure Questors having been exhausted by Bradders and his team! They all seem to have had a good time, so all is well. They'll probably sleep well tonight. Probably.

Picture the scene. (To use that dreadful cliche.) I had just called for 'Silent Reading', and all were scuttling to their respective bathrooms to clean their teeth. A couple of residents were ahead of the game and were already in their dorm. I walked in, only for my ears to be greeted with

'Just do what the old grandfather said'.

'Er, excuse me, ' I replied, 'I might be 58 - nearly 59 - but I'm not deaf, you know.'

Thereupon, the utterer insisted with me that he did not mean me, and was finishing off a joke. I did not stay to hear the full version, and turned on my heels and walked out. (I then walked back in again, with a wry grin that said 'I know, I believed you.' He looked relieved.

X Factor did it for most tonight, after all the laundry had been submitted, and Club biscuits helped, as did the Digestive mountain, which is fast becoming little more than a hillock, and our version of the Covent Garden fruit market. (From which, I learn, they chuck out a whole mass of f and v every night. That should be of interest to the young and poor .... )

Chapel was interesting tonight - did you not think ....... ??

And I think I'll leave that one hanging in the air for now.

Goodnight.

Greetings, one and all.

Not much to report tonight, as I was giving an organ and piano recital in a church in Warwickshire, leaving Mrs C to do the biz, along with Miss Chloe and the Misses C. I did get back in time to say goodnight and turn the lights out, so no-one really noticed that I wasn't around - at least, they were too polite to say so if they did. Or, more likely, they couldn't care less anyway.

The recital seemed to go quite well, other than the organ's development of a cipher minutes before the show, but I managed to get round that one by ensuring that I didn't go anywhere near the rogue stop. Widor's Toccata was a tad quiet, perhaps, but then where did they think they were? Salisbury Cathedral? (I have, in fact, played it there, which was most enjoyable.) (And in the Cathedral of St John the Divine, New York. And now I'm just showing off.)

I dared to give part of Tchaicovsky's Ist Piano Concerto an airing, too, which was almost foolhardy (a useful synonym for 'daft'), but actually it seemed to go fairly well. Anyway, I enjoyed myself, and so did my audience, it seemed, especially in the amazing buffet supper afterwards, which enabled everyone to recover.

There were masses of prospectives here this morning, and all seemed to go well. If you were one, or two, of the guests, I hope you felt that things went smoothly, and that you were suitably impressed by the luncheon that was offered, as I was. I must say, and it's good to see that the calibre of vino seems to have gone up a notch or two, too. (Mind you, Oddbins' plonk is not that bad.) (If you're desperate.)

That's it for now, folks - but not before I thank all of you who so very kindly phoned last night to offer duvetorial transportation. Next time I put out an SOS I'll endeavour to give the Newton number and not that of Cottage. (I do know it, you know.)

Gute Nacht.

67 pageviews on Wednesday night, apparently, with viewers from the Ukraine and Vietnam, or so my 'stats' tell me, but last night, when I rambled expansively and post-prandially (although 'prandium' means 'breakfast', so I've never quite managed to get my head around that one), only 19 loyal Followers tuned in. 19! Honestly, it's enough to make me enjoy sheet-change nights. (For that is what it was tonight, with duvetorial competence levels ranging from the extremely capable to the, well, erm, not so capable. Fortunately one particular resident has clearly inherited the paternal military genes and was able to ensure that several of his neighbours, having received a demonstration, looked sharp and lively.) 'Get that duvet inside out, you 'orrible little man! What are you?' he bark ....... No, he didn't really; he was very nice about it.

The evening got off to a rather bad start, though, I'm afraid, as a handful of residents decided that it would be 'great fun' to arrive within the environs of Newton a little earlier than usual. Unfortunately for them, they overlooked the fact that the environs of their own lodge are also the environs of Mayfield, where the Director of Boarding resides. Thus, their particularly vocal chase games caused Mrs Director of Boarding to come to Newton and inform your correspondent that such decibelic excess was unaccetable and to enquire as to what I was going to do about it.

What I did about it was to open the (locked, at that stage) Newton door, and appear pompously, advising, in a tone that could not really be described as 'sotto voce', that the culprits were going to turn round, walk silently over to the DoB's domain and apologise, one by one, for the ludicrous and totally heinous crime that they had committed. Chase games indeed. You'd think they were nine and ten-year-old boys, for goodness' sake.

An SOS. Tom C, as you know, has made for London town. I know that, as I put him on the Oxford Tube this very afternoon. Trouble is, he's forgotten his duvet, and so, when he officially moves into his digs on Sunday, unless we can address such duvetorial deficiencies, he's gonna freeze on Sunday night. Is there any kind Newtonian, London-based parent who might be able to help us/Tom out? He/we'd be so grateful 01865 459246 is the number to call if you can.

Sorry tonight's post has been so duvet-based, but that's how it is here sometimes. Fun, though, nevertheless.

Goodnight.

My friends, I have just consumed the perfect Chinese meal. As take-aways go, Xi'an does the best - and if you haven't availed yourself of that establishment's fare, may I suggest that you do so without delay? And I'm not just saying that because the proprietor is a friend of mine. I should point out that such feasting is a propos of our youngest daughter getting to her first exeat without let or hindrance (other than a couple of members of staff spotting her and a few mates outside the local pub), and our dear son departing tomorrow, to begin his four-year course in Japanese at SOAS, London Uni. It seems only yesterday that he was starting at SF.

Talking of such things, dear Newtonian parents, let me tell you two things. The first you'll have to trust me about, and that is that when your dear offspring are of a similar age to ours, you'll wonder what the heck you were worrying about when prep school 'issues' manifested themselves. Believe me, the concerns don't get any less, and just because Jimmy gets a 2 in Latin this time around, it really isn't a cause for sleepless nights and a phone call to DJCF in the morning. As I say, just trust me on that one.

The second thing is this. When your sons and heirs - and heiresses, of course - get to their teens and beyond, you'll no doubt have conversations like this:

Parent: So, you've finished all the bread, and there's no milk left.
Offspring: Yeah.
Parent: Well one of you can go over to Tesco's and get some more bread and milk before they close (at 11pm.)
Offspring: Yeah.
Parent: No, I mean it.
Offfspring: Yes, all RIGHT!

The following morning, several hours before the emergence of said offspring, you will go to the fridge and the bread board and discover, surprise, surprise, that there is neither milk nor bread of any kind. Thus, one of you (fathers please note) will 'volunteer', with huge enthusiasm, to go and replenish supplies. Which, dear Followers, I did - at 7am this very morn.

I returned, just a little after 7.10am, to discover that Mrs C was doing my job for me, and waking the residents. I strolled casually into Osprey.

"Well, sir, did they have any milk?" was my pre-prandial rejoinder.

"Yes thank you, O****", I replied, and continued on my way.

Going down to the Clubhouse, I sat with my normal cup of coffee, watching the BBC News. Into the room came G*****, full of pride, because, as he put it, he had achieved his 'PB' as far as getting down in good time was concerned. I must confess that we've never had 'personal bests' as far getting down punctually is concerned before!

And so to the declension of deus. Well, you see, it was like this. I said that if one was a god, in Roman times, then one could determine for oneself how one's declension declined, if you see what I mean. Thus, you see, one could arrange, subject to the approval of Jupiter, to have a completely irregular plural, if one so wished. And as far as the Genitive plural was concerned, you could do what the heck you liked. And they did.

This was regarded as being reasonably acceptable to most of the set, but one member did suggest (his words, not mine) that 'presumably the goddesses weren't so touchy about things like that'. Of course not.

I have the first hard copy of this year's magazine, by the way. And as the editor, I think that's fair enough, don't you?

Until tomorrow. Goodnight.

I can't. of course, allow tonight to pass without commenting - as you would expect, no doubt - on 'Britain's Youngest Boarders'. I thought it was a very fair programme: not as slanted as some similar transmissions in the past, and I don't really think one could accuse the BBC of bias in this instance. Sunningdale isn't Summer Fields, of course, and what works for one school doesn't necessarily work for another.

I'd be interested to know your thoughts, o Followers, so do let me know.

I was going to regale you with an anecdote from one of my Latin classes today, about how we concluded that the plural of deus is as irregular as it it, complete with alternative Genitive plural, but that can wait until tomorrow, as it's getting late. Now there's something to look forward to.

You can read tonight's actual posting now.

Bonne nuit.

The hot water system in Newton is, dare I day it, somewhat idiosyncratic. By that I mean that it sometimes fails to function as it should, and, dear Followers, standing under a freezing shower first thing in the morning takes me back to my own prep school days, to a time when Mr Bennett, the quasi-housemaster, would appear just after the 'rising bell' and point to various members of the dorm, bellowing, 'You, you, you, you and you: cold showers in the changing rooms. Now!!' At least we were let off the Latin verbs, although those of you who read last year's entries will know that, under very similar circumstances, I exclaimed more than just the periphrastic subjunctive of deponent verbs. Irregular conjugations of Anglo-Saxon verbs, yes, that was more like it.

Anyway, it's working again now, and so hot and comforting showers were enjoyed by the residents tonight.

Tonight the Hairy Bikers entertained a few, and others did their best to demolish the Digestive mountain once again, this time under the watchful gaze of Mrs C, rather than that of her more liberal-minded son.

The Broadband is about to let me down, so I'm going to finish now. Oh, and by the way, Mr Bennett, er, 'left' rather quickly, you may be reassured to know.

Goodnight all.

Not much to report tonight, folks, as Mrs C and I are off duty as from 11.30am on Tuesdays, and the excellent services of Mr Bryan have ensured that all has gone without incident. I mowed the front lawn this morning, and made it look relatively stunning, causing one resident to exclaim enthusiatically about what a lovely area it is, when he came back to lodge to collect a book. Being the boy he is, I'm pretty sure that he was, indeed, collecting a book, rather than using the expression somewhat euphemistically, and in a way that probably involved contraband - not that we have anything like that in Newton ....... of course. Oh don't worry, I'll find it: I've even been known to discover illegal goodies stashed behind firebells before now - although to be fair, that was in Mayfield, not in Newton. Teddies with distended rumens are always a giveaway, mattresses, pillowcases, and, in days of yore, within the tubing that forms the frame of a bed.

So, there it is. Oh yes, that reminds me: I said it was the Cardinal in 'Amadeus' who kept on trotting those words out: of course it was the Emperor himself. Come on, readers, shape up ....

Goodnight all.

OK, I confess. I actually write these nightly epistles from a beach in the Sunshine State, sipping cocktails and surrounded by girls from Baywatch. The Cadillac is in the parking lot, and the waves are lapping onto the sand as those guys with the red things charge into the ocean to rescue anyone who looks as if they need impressing. So now you know why there's a time difference shown on the blog. As for my daily teaching, well, that's easy: I use Skype.

Nah, not really. it's just that, while I've 'figured out' how most of this blog operates, I haven't actually worked out how to set the time. Nice thought, though - and not entirely beyond the realms of possibility, either! I do, as it happens, love California, and not just because I really, honestly, truly have slept in Pam Ewing's bed. (See somewhere among last year's posts for full story.) Ask Mrs C: she was there at the time! She was quite happy about the triumvirate, I might add. I was really lent a Cadillac Seville, too, which, although great to drive in a straight line, as Mr Clarkson will tell you, the steering has 'absolutely no relation to the direction of travel erwhatsoever.' The air conditioning, though, was terrific. I nearly got frostbite in the mountains.

I thought the Vatican was having a laugh this morning, and that one or two of the Cardinals (though probably not the Holy Father himself) had had a good butcher's at my ramblings last night, as what should drop onto the doormat, but a catalogue from a company called 'Peter Christian'. I looked for the loafers among the pages of footwear, but to no avail. Thank you, though, dear Follower, for looking on Ebay to see whether there were any up for grabs.

Back here on the ranch (no, Newton, I mean, I'm not in Argentina now), we have a Digestive mnountain. No doubt many apocryphal stories about the dispensing of such items will abound when you next see your offspring, but the truth of the matter is that my own son and heir took it upon himself to do the doling, and suffice it to say that things were not as organised as they are when, say, Mrs C does it. Still, the residents seemed happy enough with such a plenitudinous (w.o.t.n.) delivery, and Tom got a right royal b******ing from his mum.

So that's it for tonight - other than to tell you that the base of Connect 4 has gone missing, and I had to develop a somewhat Heath Robinson alternative, involving a large tome and a shoebox, and that someone decided to leave our gate open, which meant that Isla went walkabout. She returned about an hour later, looking rather smug as she was directed towards her bed.

Goodnight.

Good evening, all, and I hope you've all had a very enjoyable weekend. As we have. It was good to meet up with some of you, and if I didn't see you, then I hope we'll be able to catch up very soon.

I must tell you that the nightly hit rate has gone up from 24 to 46 in the last few nights, so if someone's evangelising Bloggism then thank you very much, and if someone is simply spending his or her time clicking on the link, then it's very comforting to me, but I can think of better ways of passing the time ... ! I've also discovered that I can log on to a map which shows me the locations at which NFN is being read, and that's fascinating! A good number of hits from Russia, apparently, and several from Japan! So if that's you, then may I convey greetings to wherever it is you may be.

Tonight has been dominated by X-Factor, and all was fine (if rather rowdy) until one resident decided that such were his venomous opinions of the person who seemed to be in the lead that he lobbed a slipper at the television screen. His timing was impeccable, as the projectile came into contact with the screen at exactly the moment I walked into the room. I was not, as they say, pleased. I wasn't beastly or anything, but I was, I admit, firm, and suffice it to say that the danger of being hit by a flying slipper while passing through the Clubhouse is, once again, minimal. Talking of slippers, I do think the Holy Father's loafers are very cool. (I'm now trying to think of a stupid pun as to where one might be able to acquire such footwear. Maybe by the end of this post.)

The winners of the dorm tidiness competition this week were Osprey, who get collectively to share (split infinitive deftly avoided there, note) a box of Celebrations. I did my best to fool the occupants (the boys, not the chocs) into believing that they were for me and not them, but it didn't work.

I'm now being called for supper, so that's it for tonight. More tomorrow, though - complete with pun if I can think of one.

Goodnight.

There's hardly anyone here tonight, but that hasn't pevented us from having a very pleasant evening. 'Mission Impossible' provided cinematic entertainment, and sweet rations did everything else. And while all the residents enjoyed the film, Mrs C and I once again fantasised about our future in the geriatric home (something that draws ever nearer) and watched our favourite soap, namely (and look, I still can't type it) Casualty. YAY! I spely it correctly! No, I really did - and I really did get spely - sorry spelt - wrong. I'll have another go. Casulaty. Oh goodness. Once more. Casulaty. That's more like it. I'm not making this up, you know.

I have to tell you, dear Followers, that I was not flavour du mois just before the film started. I had put it on, you see, and decided that the volume was a tad minimalist. I therefore increased same, and left the Clubhouse. Next thing I know is that Mrs C is giving the residents a right royal - better not use le mot juste - telling off because 'someone has turned the volume up to an unacceptable level'. I stood behind my dear wife, catching the accusatory gazes of my charges, and, of course, being possessed of the integrity that my station in life demands, confessed that the fault was mine. Quickly, seeing the stifled giggles that were in plentiful abundance, I extinguished the lights and ushered Mrs C towards our quarters, advising her that Casulaty was about to start.

I was flattered to learn that such is my verbal badinage that one of my Followers has been deceived into believing that I must be something of an academic. Er, well, yes, 'tis true that the pinnacle of my academic career to date is to have been awarded a research fellowship from one of the world's finest unis, but it is in enthnomusicology - and I've just spent the last two minutes trying to type that correctly - and when it comes to mathematics, well, it's also true that I am a qualified teacher of same. But I suspect that my marker was in his cups when giving me a licence to train the young in anything that exceeded the two times table, or, like my public school HM, when going through our end of year reports in the Lower Fifth, made the error of being one name ahead of himself. Beginning his congratulatory remarks with the words 'Well, Clark, you seem to have had a most excellent term', my response of 'Er, I'm Cheater, sir', caused slightly less enthusiasm on his part, as I recall.

Oh, if only he could see me now.

Night night.

Now there's something I didn't know! I can track the number of 'pageviews', as they seem to be called, each day! Yesterday, lest you should be interested, there were 26, and today, a meagre 22. How fascinating this all is. I've also discovered that I can do all kinds of fancy things with the design layout, so if NFN goes weird one night, you'll know that the zenith of my technological ineptitude has been surpassed. Erm, not sure if that really works, grammatically or otherwise.

Tonight's gathering over here began with one resident hurling himself through the main door and informing me, in a most tuneful manner, that, apparently, washing machines last longer with Calg ........ - oh! Sorry sir! Very entertaining it was, but perhaps less so for the one with designs on a operatic career.

From there I walked down the corridor, and straight into a gaggle of Newtonians who were discussing Isla's gender in an animated manner. "She's a girl!" "No she isn't, she's a boy! Don't be daft, he's a girl! Sir, is Isla a boy or a girl?" "A girl." "Oh." I did not, as you might imagine, attempt the inevitable moment of irony, viz: "There's just a hint of a clue in her name", as I think we'd moved on by then.

I spent a most enjoyable few minutes wandering down Memory Lane with one resident tonight, sharing with him extracts from a 'log book' that had been kept by one of my former pupils, way back in 1974. I was fascinated to read the percentages awarded to all of my colleagues in those days - and me - as well as the comments! I scored a mere 55%, which was pretty pathetic, really, but I consoled myself with the thought that I'd been at that school for only a term at that stage! At least I did better than the colleague who scored just 5% and was referred to as a 'swindler' and, worse than that, a 'tuck dealer'. Heaven forbid that I should ever be styled as one of those .... ! (Oh yes, I bet you're longing to know what the comment about me was. Oh all right, then. 'Seems quite nice. Likes cars, music and girls. Would like to be a journalist if he wasn't a teacher.')

So it's been a good evening, with just the one Newtonian being prevented from endeavouring to discern whether he could get into one of the drawers under his bed. He simply could not understand why it had been 'so much easier in Savage's'. I left him to work it out.

Jusqu'a demain. Goodnight.

My Broadband connection has decided that it will keep me on tenterhooks by cutting in and out tonight, imagining that such immature behaviour is entertaining. It isn't.

However, there is some excellent news, and I'm sorry I didn't convey it to you last night, and that is that the cumulative total of goals scored by Newtonians in the matches yesterday was a hugely impressive 16! Nine of those came from one dorm alone, too! A perfectly splendid performance - and I'm very proud of all of them.

As for tonight, well, Mr Porter has been in command, and, with the exception of the lights not functioning in the upstairs common room (the electricians were here today), all has gone well. Is it not extraordinary that when one asks the experts to look at things, especially cars when they go for their services, they seem to be less functionary than they were before? I can remember my dear late father getting cross with our local garage people for exactly that reason. And having recently paid my first four-figure bill for having our own jalopy serviced, I was not exactly in the best of humour when I discovered it had developed a rasping sound from beneath the bonnet when I went to collect it! Goodness, I do witter on.

You might wonder what your LMs do first thing in the morning. Let me tell you. 6.30: our alarm goes. I will omit the intricate detail of the next 30 mins and take you straight to 7.00am, when I go downstairs to our kitchen and empty the dishwasher and make myself the first coffee of the day. At 7.10 I go into each dorm and bid everyone 'Good morning', advising them of the day's laundry requirements. Mrs C follows me at 7.15 and then Miss Chloe arrives and chivvies everyone along. I position myself in the Clubhouse, in front of the BBC News and await the first customers of the day, enquiring politely whether they have combed/brushed their hair, or whether they are aware that it happens to be 'national shirt tucking in day', etc., etc. and all that kind of banter. By 7.30 they're all down, and all out. Well, almost. Meanwhile, Mrs C and Miss Chloe are giving helpful advice and the odd bit of cajoling - and that, my dear Followers, is how the mornings work.

So, as Archduke Ferdinand used to say - allegedly - 'There it is'.

Goodnight.

When I was at my prep school (stop yawning), I had a wonderful French master called Mr Selwood. He's probably long gone by now, but, sir, just in case you should have stumbled across this tiny corner of cyberspace, either from this world or from the next (Professor Hawking notwithstanding), first of all a belated thank you for your excellent teaching and foundation-laying, and secondly, I wonder whether you recall your thoughts, which you expressed so lucidly about cheese squelch.

Cheese squelch, my dear Bloggites, was Mr Selwood's name for macaroni cheese, and already you may be wondering where on earth I'm going with this one. I am traversing this particular path, my friends, only because that is what my daughter had prepared for herself and my son and heir, Tom, tonight. As I prepared to settle down our Newtonians for silent reading, one of them enquired of me "Sir, what's that smell?"

I put my young charge in the picture, and asked him whether, perhaps, unlike dear old Sammy (oops, that'll get me 100 celestial lines), he might care to descend to our kitchen and, Oliver-like, ask Hannah whether she might be able to spare a morcel of same. She was delighted to welcome him to the table, and the next thing I knew there was a dinner-party atmosphere below, young guest holding court about his day, as he polished off a plateful of cheese squelch. (I managed to avoid being caught, too, and was able to enjoy my daughter's culinary delights (oh what a ghastly cliche, but it's getting late) on the hoof.

Wednesday nights are TV nights, and the Newtonian world was divided into those who favoured football, and those whose taste caused them to opt for that which is prepared not by my daughter, but by two gentlemen who go by the name of 'Hairy Bikers'. Gosh, those fish and chips looked good, did they not? I must remember to print off the recipe, as requested by two of the viewers!

As for today's football, well, if you've had a squint at the website, you'll see that it's been a very good day. 'Football drinks' - an opportunity for all of to congregate in a colleague's house and, erm, 'discuss the matches in detail' - were very agreeable tonight, by kind courtesy of the Director of Sport. I won't make you groan by repeating last year's anecdote of my liaison (that really is a most irritating word to type, what with its extra 'i' 'n stuff) with an optician's daughter - but of course, if you insist ......

I heard from two of last year's Leavers today, now at Eton and Harrow respectively: both have settled very well, and both seem very happy. It's nice when that happens.

Bonne nuit, mes amis, from a very contented Newton.

Not much to report tonight, my dear Followers, as Mrs C and I have been off duty, it being a Tuesday. The excellent Mr Bryan has been at the helm, and all sounds as if it has gone well. And in any case, no doubt the threat of cold showers and Latin verbs first thing tomorrow morning would be sufficient to extinguish any thoughts of recidivistic nocturnal behaviour. (Oh, how I remember those days.)

One point to pass on: if at any stage you are concerned about anything that is lodge-related, do ring us, or send an e-mail. Please don't ever think that you'll be 'bothering' us', because you won't. We'll be able to give you the whole picture, and help to resolve any issues that may arise. That's what we're here for.

On which note, I'll bid you goodnight, and I'll be able to supply you with a more comprehensive overview tomorrow.

My word! These evenings do come in quick succession once the term is up and running, do they not? It seems only yesterday that I was writing the last entry.

One of the aims of this blog is not only to furnish you all, dear Followers, with an accurate account of how your cherubs are faring, but also to offer a broader 'helicopter view', if you will, of the school itself. And from where I'm sitting now, I can hear the collective question 'Well, how's the new broom doing, then?' My response? He's possessed of three eyes. (I can now hear the sharp intake of breath as those words slam onto your retinae.) Yes, indeed he is. Intelligent, Incisive, Interesting. And a thoroughly capable HM. I am really excited about the future of SF, because if things continue at the pace this term has started, we're in for a terrific ride. So there you are: now you know. That's my take on the new reign - and I'm not just writing all that simply because I know that our new Leader is himself a follower of my nightly offerings!

You may sometimes wonder what your sons' preceptors discuss over their morning coffee. Oh come on, I bet you do. Well, this morning, I was sitting among a branch of SF erudition in the form of the Director of Music and the Head of English, who between them have almost as many postnominals as a tin of alphabet soup. I enquired of my colleagues as to what one did with a gamut. Did one, perhaps, 'run' a gamut? Did one 'run up' a gamut? Did one 'pass through' a gamut? It fell to the good Doctor of Renaissance Literature to put me out of my misery, and inform me that one 'runs through' a gamut. I was much relieved, and opined that I had spent a sleepless night wondering what one did with a gamut. The Director of Music began to tell me what I could do with same, but before my ears were defiled beyond repair I made for our spanking new coffee machine and poured myself a cappucino.

As for Newton, it's been a great evening. No telly on Mondays, but Bourbons bics, orange juice and fruit a-plenty to compensate for that, games in many corners of the lodge, ranging from Connect 4 on the floor of Osprey to sophisticated computer games in the upstairs common room, a string of phone calls - and of course, the inevitable dog-worship in our kitchen. As for our new members, they've been the life and soul of the party: I even had to tell one of them to pipe down a bit!

All is well.

Goodnight.

It's been a good day. All of our - sorry, your - Newtonians have been in great spirits, and much pleasure has been enjoyed. I've just bid goodnight to Miss Chloe's parents, who are over here following their European tour, and very charming they were, too. They return to Oz on Wednesday, and we're very much hoping that we shall catch up with them again before they depart.

Chapel was a fine experience for all of us, although there's always a limit as to how much I can see from my perch on the organ stool, and the Chaplain spoke to us lucidly about 'Journeys', complete with maps, orienteering equipment and the inevitable GPS. I must confess that although we tended to adopt a somewhat philistinic approach to such gizmos, we would have ended up in some pretty strange places without ours during our French odyssey in the summer! (Although the less said about the altercation that arose between the GPS lady, Mrs C and your correspondent, as we endeavoured to set our various courses through the fine city of Rouen, the better. Our three young adults, sitting in the back, found it very hard to stifle their extreme mirth, of course.) (I still think I was right, btw.)

I wish, oh I really wish, you could have seen the scene in the Clubhouse tonight. 'Help for Heroes' was on, as I'm sure many of you will know, and one of the acts was performed by a gentleman whom, I believe, goes by the name of 'Plan B'. Well, his song, it seems, brings out the less timid side of Newtonians, and within a few bars about 20 of our residents were on their feet, singing and dancing to the music. Of course, being the ageing rocker that I am, and with remote control in my hand, I found myself transported back to my youth, and, having checked that Mrs C was out of sight, or, more importantly, hearing range, 'pumped up' the volume. That went well.

And had I not been acting gapper matron earlier in the evening, due to Miss Chloe and her parents missing their train back from London, I don't think I would have got away with it, either. Oh my word, how on earth do you ladies do it? 'It's simple, all you have to do is put their leagues and cords on the front left of their shelves', instructed Swmbo. Simple. Yeah, right. First, where are their leagues. Second, where are their cords. Half of them don't, apparently, have leagues, and the other half don't appear to have cords. How, then, dear readers, does my beloved spouse of 29 years manage to give such a look of exasperation, reach into the depths of the lockers and, by employing her prestidigitational (that was good!) skills, locate the aformentioned articles without issue???

No, I won't be applying for a gapper post when I retire in two years' time. Trust me.

Night night.

And there I was, imagining that it is I who am the most hypersensitive person on the planet. Er, no. I think not. Tonight I've been required to console several Newtonians who have been in need of such consolation, the last of whom was much saddened by an acerbic verbal volley conerning his greatly beloved teddies. And I don't blame him for being so upset, either. I gently suggested to the purveyor of such acrimony that Newtonians don't behave in such a way, because personal possessions are very precious - and he wouldn't like it if someone else had been unkind about something that was very special to him. He agreed, and voluntarily went away from his friendly but firm reprimand to apologise. Good boy.

Talking of which, I reminded a couple of others that Mrs C and I are richly blessed in being allowed the great privilege of looking after your most precious possessions - and I meant it. Without wishing to become too sentimental about that sort of thing, it does us no harm to remember just what a position of trust we are in.

Our daughter, Hannah, is out on the lash (as they say) tonight, although I suspect that it will be more of a 'lashette', in view of the fact that she's using her bike and she's very sensible. Before she went out, she discovered that her rear cycle light wasn't working. Mrs C had the answer. "Ask A*** to have a look at it," she advised. She did so, and of course, A*** had it fixed in no time. I do wish I could do things like that: I'm completely abenorsic. (w.o.t.n. And a real one!)

I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that it's the Last Night of the Proms tonight, which caused a real conundrum, as Mrs C and I are both Casulaty (which I still can't type properly - see last year's entries) and music fans. Still, it wasn't too difficult, because the boys were watching 'Cheeky by the Dozen', so we were able to watch Casulaty (!!!) and then switch over to L N O t P after that, before turning off the lights.

"Sir, we're missing P**** ." I told P**** that his dorm were missing him and he made haste in returning from the bathroom, to a round of applause .... !

I hope you'rer having a good weekend. We are.

Goodnight.

Evening all.

Well, that's a first: I had to express my disapproval to a resident who clearly has designs on becoming Poet Laureate, as he decided that he would address one of his fellow Newtonians as 'Skiver Godiva', following the latter's (imagined) non-appearance in the showers. That was quite enough of that, thank you very much. He can save such sobriquetic (w.o.t.n.) references for his English classes, where they will be encouraged, no doubt!

Apples and biscuits featured for the first time this term tonight, and upon learning that one of the LMs had not realised this, I enquired of him whether he would like one, two, or three biscuits. Following his positive response, I could not, of course, forbear from uttering 'Crumbs!', which resulted in an appreciatively polite chortle from the assembled company. (And an air-drum-roll from one, complete with cymbal crash on the final beat.)

As for the in-house entertainment tonight, that was of a very similar form to that of last night, with the addition of a splendid board game that could be played by one if required - which, indeed, it was - called 'Rush Hour'. As it was car-based, and I happen to be petrol-headed, as I note that one of you is, too, I could not do otherwise than approve wholeheartedly. (I continue to await the arrival of my Aston Martin, and will sit expectantly by the hearth on Christmas Eve, but I suspect such waiting will be to no avail.) (Still, I did get to drive one last term, when an erstwhile and now very successful former pupil came back to see me for the day!)

And now they're all fast asleep. Of course. Until tomorrow - when it will be film night, accompanied by sweet rations!

Good evening from the happy house. If you see what I mean. Tonight I have the luxury of an assistant in the form of Mr Porter, who's sharing the load, so I've been able to get to the keyboard a tad earlier once again.

Were you here, you'd walk into the downstairs common room, which last year I christened The Clubhouse, and see a gaggle of LMs (little men) engaged in a number of board games, you'd then go past Curlew dorm, from which I have just emerged, after enquiring after one of its occupants as to why the television should have 'accidentally' found itself in 'on' mode ("I don't know, sir," which is the best springboard I know for a volley of deep irony, as in 'So have you developed a nervous twitch that occurs every time you go anywhere near a television, then?" This being the school it is, of course, where we tend to encourage repartee rather than sit on it (how surreal that sounds), the reponse, which I received, of 'Yes, there's a magnet in my arm', is inevitable. I have now completely lost the thread of that which is contained within these parentheses, so I shall abandon it.) Up the stairs, and into the originally-named 'upstairs common room', which is right next door to my 'study' and the green baize door is wide open. I can hear - and indeed see, if I crane my neck in an ostrich-like manner - an enthusiastic game of space invaders going on, or whatever is to be found on our basic bank of computer games. In the corridor two Newtonians are happily playing 'Guess who' on the chest of drawers. Tom C is explaining how his newly refurbished Apple Macbook works to one of our newcomers, in our kitchen and over a studentian (word of the night) bowl of self-prepared filled pasta, and yet another is on the 'phone.

One of our residents requested of me that I should not, please, play the piano after lights out. Naturally, with my policy of promoting total happiness (i.e. being an acquiescent soft-touch) I said that I would endeavour to keep my Scarlatti sonatas to myself, but couldn't help but wonder why he should not wish to be treated to joyous nocturnal melodies. He reminded me, of course, that it was he who, when in the junior choir, had listened to the piece that I had composed for the carol service that year, before learning to sing it, and had caused me to cease playing after four bars, as he had, erm, 're-visited his lunch', to put it eupehemistically.

Splendid. Mr Porter has now called for silent reading, and all is calm.

Thanks for reading, and until tomorrow, I bid you a fond goodnight.
PS: Having inherited his father's pedantic qualities, and having just read tonight's entry over my shoulder, my dear son and heir enquired as to why I might have observed a bowl of pasta enjoying a telephone conversation. Perhaps it was kan o' loneli.

Welcome, my dear new Followers! Mrs C and I were delighted to meet you all earlier and we hope that you will feel very much a part of Newton. I'm sorry you received my letter a little late in the day, but such is the volume of cyberspatial traffic that hurtles through the offices that my own submission was not awarded the priority I might have liked!

Frenetic, wasn't it? It always is, but then, that's SF: the fast-moving carousel onto which we all have to jump at the beginning of the new year, and which we all learn to love and cherish. And now that it's gained momentum, it will simply keep revolving, and, I hope, allowing us all the privilege of a happy and trouble-free ride. This is our 17th year here, and we love it: I'm sure you do, too.

Usually, I write this blog up after I've extinguished the lights; tonight, because the freneticism (a great word, even if doesn't exist) I thought I'd better write it earlier than usual, so that I can 'focus' on the various activities (most of which will revolve around clothing) of this evening's lodge time. And by the way, I'm sorry if I seemed so hopeless if any of you asked me about clothing issues: Mrs C is omnisicient when it comes to such things - and I'm, well, not.

I hope you liked the background music as you arrived; I tried putting on a CD which offered various classics accompanied by the sound of the Pacific Ocean, but the Obergrupenfuhrerine wasn't having any of that, as it 'sounded as if it was off-station the whole time', which resulted in my locating one of my favourite collections of music, that of the legendary Dave Brubeck. That didn't go down too well, either, so in the end I resorted to a collection of rather unimaginative orchestral works, which seemed to get the required nod of approval.

Enough for tonight. I hope you'll all enjoy my nightly ramblings, wherever you are in the world. And welcome, by the way, to our new Follower in Uganda! Thank you for making contact - via Facebook! (Yes, I do. I know, I know .... )

Until tomorrow, then.